Birthrights
by Aromene
Summary: Set in the days immediately after the Fall of Gil-galad and the defeat of Sauron, Elrond discovers that the hardest battle he must face may be yet to come. Could be considered AU, depending on your interpretation of canon.


**Disclaimer: All JRR Tolkien's. I even stuck to his canon this time regarding Gil-galad's parentage. I entirely abused his canon where the rest of the story is concerned.**

**AN: After the war is over, Elrond discovers the hardest battle may be yet to come. Set in the days after the Fall of Gil-galad and the defeat of Sauron.**

* * *

There is no time to grieve for those who have fallen. Their goal is simply to vacate the accursed lands as quickly as the army can manage. For the men who have chosen to remain in the south lands, in Anarion's new kingdom of Gondor, there is not far to go.

Elrond holds his tongue when Isildur announces he will lead the remnants of the men of Numenor there, at least for a time. Until the wounded can heal and a kingdom can be built. Then he will go north to his own lands to build a kingdom there. All well and good, but the thought of the Ring remaining near to the ruins of Mordor displeases Elrond, and worries everyone around who knows what the last great Lord of Numenor now bears. But Elrond has said his piece; has pleaded and cajoled and downright ordered. Isildur will not give up the Ring. And short of armed violence against the last leader of men, Elrond has no choice but to allow this.

Instead he concentrates on that which he can control, which is to see to the disbanding and return of the remnants of the elven army to their own lands.

It is a week later; when at least they have succeeded in moving outside of the black gates, now thrown asunder that guard the lands of Mordor, when Celeborn comes to him. Behind him, but not trailing, never trailing, is Galadriel and Cirdan, Thranduil and Amroth. All of them have suffered the most grievous of blows, the loss of those they name to be their kings. Already Elrond understands that Thranduil plans to gather his father's people and return north to the forests of Greenwood. Galadriel and Celeborn have made no choice that Elrond knows of, but he suspects in his heart they will return to Lorien under Amroth's rule, now that Amdir is gone. And Cirdan…Cirdan will return to Lindon, to be Lord of a city now without a King.

And Elrond will go back to Imladris, lord of whatever remains. He has an inkling though, long before the others approach that night, that they have higher plans for the Herald of Gil-galad.

He should always trust his own foresight.

'Elrond,' Cirdan begins, coming to stand next to Celeborn. A united front, Elrond's mind helpfully tells him, already knowing for certain now what is coming.

'Absolutely not,' he states, as plainly as he can. He expected this of Cirdan, perhaps even of Celeborn in truth, but that Thranduil is supporting this madness, that Galadriel supports it, is beyond belief. Their army is all but destroyed, their houses half gone, if not worse, and for the next several decades their only focus should be on rebuilding that which they can. Instead, they have concocted this mad scheme behind his back.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps this madness is not of their own making.

'Whether you tell me this is his will or not, it does not matter. I will not do as you wish. We are a broken people now; do you not think many will sail after what they have lost? We have no need of kings any longer.'

He is well aware of what company he says this to, but he is tired and grieved, and above all irate that anyone can expect him to agree to this.

'Elrond,' Celeborn begins instead, and this time, at least, he is not interrupted. 'You have made your own points in favour, though you might think they are against. We are broken, and scattered, and we have more need now then ever in unity. We all, of us, agree. Yes, Greenwood and Lorien will remain kingdoms of the Sindar and the Silvan elves, but we are one people in truth. If they shall have their own kings who stand before you now, why should not we?'

Elrond is not at all convinced this is a rational argument. No one, in the long history of their people has said that the Noldor have a king only because everyone else does too. Gil-galad was king because he was born to be one. Elrond, however, was not. No one can argue otherwise.

'Then you have more than one choice for a king, or a queen, if you so will. If you ask for my vote, I will support Cirdan.'

If the Lord of the Havens is surprised by this declaration he does not show it. In fact, he all but ignores it.

'We have not dreamed this idea up in the last week Elrond. Discussions were had months ago; years even, between myself and Ereinion. He wished for this, if the worst should happen.'

'His wishes and my desires and our _needs_ are very different things,' Elrond says, lashing out in a way he immediately knows is uncalled for. He cannot blame them for this, even if they are not following their former king's orders. No doubt there are many elves in the camp that have had similar thoughts. It is no secret that Elrond was one of Gil-galad's most trusted advisors, and closest relatives. Only one other in this company can claim that.

Elrond has the grace to look only curious when he meets Galadriel's eyes, well aware she can read his thoughts. 'And yet, you come to me,' he states.

Galadriel's look is almost kind when she responds, 'I have power enough, more than I need. I have known too much loss and grief in these years since we came to Middle-Earth. I desire only to return to the forest of Lorien and raise my daughter in peace.'

Elrond's eyes narrow. There is more to that, he knows, and he is not about to believe that after two ages of the world in this exiled lands that Galadriel has truly turned back on the desires of her youth. He glances at Celeborn, but the Doriath elf gives nothing away. Perhaps, it is possible, that even the daughter of Finarfin can change.

'Be that as it may, I hardly think we need scramble through the family tree to find an heir when no heir is needed. We have no kingdom to rule any longer.'

'That is debatable,' Amroth mutters and if not for his recent loss, Elrond would be hard pressed to stop the scathing glare he desires to send the elf's way.

'Not to me. What need have the Noldor for kings? Are we so little able to govern our own lands that we have need of one to govern us?'

That, at least, seems to make Cirdan pause, and even Celeborn looks thoughtful.

'Perhaps there is some truth in that, but it is not our ability to govern our lands that worries us, Elrond, surely you can see that. Our fear is that, in the wake of a bitter victory, those governed lands will become mere outposts in the wide world, with nothing to draw them together,' Cirdan explains.

Elrond rises from his seat and paces to the side table, one of the few pieces of furniture they had bothered to pack up and move with the commander's tent. Suddenly, standing within the space that bare weeks ago Gil-galad had commanded from does not seem like a particularly good place to have this conversation. But better here than in sight of the army outside. He pours fresh water into a goblet and drains half the amount in one gulp. The dryness of Mordor still lingers on the tongue, and he can still taste the ash of too many years of war.

His back to them all, he sighs. 'I am tired Cirdan. I am more tired than I knew it possible to be. I have lost much, too much, and I have no desire except to return to my valley and know what peace I may.'

Galadriel's voice is soft when she speaks, far too kind for her. This war has changed her too, and perhaps that was explanation enough of why she has no desire for a throne. 'We all wish for that, you must understand. But we have fought too hard and for too long to break now.'

'We are broken already,' Elrond whispers, returning to his seat. He slides down in it with all the grace given to the secondborn and not the first. 'Nothing will be as it was, and this imagined kingdom is amongst that list. I will not take it.'

Thranduil heaves a beleaguered sigh. 'If that is your final word, then I believe, for one, that we have had enough of this circular conversation. You cannot force one to be king. I take my leave of you my lords, my lady,' he inclines his head to Galadriel and slips out of the tent.

'You seem to have lost some support,' Elrond mutters, too tired to be pleased at the sudden turn.

'And more besides,' Amroth announces. 'I, at least, have a people to look after and I will not stand here any longer debating whether you Noldo need a king or not. We Sindar, at least, have no desire for one.' And he too leaves their presence.

'So, my fellow advisors, what have you now?' Elrond queries to the remaining three who stand before him.

Cirdan sighs heavily and takes the only other free seat in the room. 'I have made what case Gil-galad asked of me. If it is truly your desire to go against his wishes, then that is your choice. I wish only to return to my house. There is much work to be done for those that will sail in the coming years.'

Elrond snorts softly. 'Practicality, at long last. I trust we are done with this?' he asks of the others.

'It is, ultimately, your decision Elrond,' Celeborn agrees. His wife sends him a less than pleased look, but the silver-haired elf ignors her. 'Perhaps, in some ways, you are right and we have no need of a Noldorin king.'

Elrond raises his water glass in toast. 'Agreed! Now if that matter is settled, I desire what sleep I may find, for tomorrow there is still much work to do.'

'As you say,' Cirdan agrees, rising with a slight bow of his head. 'Celeborn, Galadriel.' He turns to Elrond. 'My lord,' he says and leaves.

Elrond frowns after him. 'I have not won this argument, have I?'

'Not in the least,' Galadriel smiles. 'We feel it would be for the best, Elrond, if only for a while.'

'And how many yeni will awhile be, I wonder?' the half-elf mutters into his goblet.

Galadriel continues her serene smile.

'We shall discuss this more at a later date. There is time yet. Nothing can be done until our return to more civilized lands.'

'You don't mean to return all the way to Lindon, surely? Will you not stay in Lorien with Amroth?' Elrond queries.

'Yes, of course. As will we all, I should think. His are the closet lands and we have much need of rest. I do not think you will be crossing the mountains for a year or two yet, Elrond,' Celeborn suggests.

Elrond's eyes wander off. 'Yes, perhaps. A season, at least, of rest is needed. We have decisions that must be made.'

Celeborn gives him a look.

'Decisions of things other than what head to place a needless crown on,' Elrond clarifies.

'He thought only of the future,' the silver-haired lord replies. 'Can you fault him for that?'

'No,' is the whispered reply.

Galadriel approaches him slowly and leans forward to touch a finger to the half-elven's chin. 'We will leave you to your rest, as you so astutely stated you have need of it. There is much time left to discuss matters. All matters,' she adds when it looks as if Elrond will argue.

'Very well, be gone, the pair of you. And we will have no more talk of kings and crowns until we have at least dealt with the important matters of where to spend the winter.'

'As you say, my lord,' she says, laughter in her eyes as she disappears into the night.

'I am afraid, Elrond, you are in for something of a battle in this.'

'She cannot win every conflict,' he suggests.

'I would not be so certain of that,' Celeborn says, following his wife out.

Elrond sits pensively in his chair. 'Look at what you have left me, sire. What madness of yours desires me to somehow _rule_ these people? I should spend more time being ruled by the likes of them.'

He rises to refill his cup, still thirsty. 'If this is truly your will, you will have to send me some sign from your new residence in Mandos. Tell me what I should do.'

Outside the camp is as quiet as it might be, and not even the wind stirs in answer to his prayer.

* * *

**One-shot**


End file.
